The First Prophet Article

Over the years, my story has been told by many authors of much greater talent than I. If you are interested in reading this article, which is my feeble attempt to put down on paper some recollection of the War, then you've probably read it all at some point or another. There have been many books and many articles dedicated to the story of the War, and I will not rehash them all here.

When the publishers of The Daily Prophet asked me, at my great advanced age and for the millionth time, to finally write something, I simply thought to tell them to sod off...again. It was yet another lucrative book deal they were offering, and I was not interested.

Not because I am a hermit or a misanthrope, mind you, but because there are others that are better equipped to tell this particular piece of history. Furthermore, many of the memories and lessons of that time are painful to me. More importantly, I do not seek fame or glory for myself. Others have always, through my long life, been willing to tell my story.

So why did I decide to write this simple, short article for the Prophet that you are now reading?

You now know how I became the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One. You know how I met Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Dumbledore, the Weasley Family, and the Order of the Phoenix. You've learned of the Dursley's cruelty, Voldemort's power, Severus Snape's treachery, Draco Malfoy's conflicted nature, and Albus Dumbledore's one fatal miscalculation. You have learned how I dealt with maltreatment, kindness, friendship, and loss. You have learned of my trip from childhood through adolescence, and the struggle that was thrust upon me during that time. You have learned of the battles I fought.

My unauthorized biographers and my would-be legend builders have told these stories. If you average out some of their more ridiculous creations, for good and for ill, you will find a close approximation of actual fact. They either vilify me or they canonize me. Between those two extremes, the truth lies.

So if the story is completely told, why am I wasting my limited remaining earthly time, and cramping my elderly hands, to bring you this article?

Well, in all of the tales of war and woe that have been published through the years, there is one missing factor. It is the most important factor, however, and it was the key to our victory.

The key to this victory was discovered during the last year of the War; in what I like to call the Seventh Year.

In the limited amount of history that I have read from that period, the historians, whether they love me or hate me, always point out that I had a vague plan for the final year of battle. From these histories you would also know that I had comrades for those battles. Based on the legends that have grown in the intervening decades, you would also think that I had magic and talent for those battles as well.

But this is not so.

What you don't know is that I did not have a weapon for those battles. I was very eager to fight, but I had nothing with which I could effectively fight. Sure, I had my wand and my wits and, at the risk of sounding immodest, I had loads of potential.

But you must understand that I was fighting Voldemort. By now, you know why that name struck terror into the heart of witch and wizard alike, and why it is still used to frighten misbehaving children.

The reason that I write this simple article is to let everyone know, once and for all, that if I had faced Voldemort without an appropriate weapon, it was hopeless. Simply put, I was going to be a lamb marching to slaughter.

Therefore, I will use The Daily Prophet's generous opportunity, and a bit of your precious time, Dear Reader, to tell a very short tale. It is a seemingly innocuous tale, but within it lays my discovery of the weapon that defeated the greatest dark wizard that the world will, hopefully, ever see.

More importantly (at least to me if not to the Wizarding World) is that it shows what true friends and comrades Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were to me, even when they were unaware of the inspiration they engendered.

Most importantly, this tale shows that the true architect of our victory was not me. It was a generous educator and headmaster who could find the undiscovered promise in each of his young charges. He was a kindly old man who knew the value of Love, and taught its importance to a wayward and lonely little boy. To him I am eternally thankful, as are we all.

Pardon me if my tale rambles a bit, or if there are holes in my recollection of events, or if something I write seems a tad crude. I am an old man now after all. I consider it my due to be a bit discombobulated and ... cheeky.

But read on, and learn a bit of history that they never taught you in school...